


Emptying the Bowl

by Hope



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Remix, Wincest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-09-30
Updated: 2007-09-30
Packaged: 2017-10-01 23:51:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hope/pseuds/Hope
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>For the spn_remix. Remix of <a href="http://jewels667.livejournal.com/160773.html">Fault Lines</a> by jewels667. Thank you to ggreenapple for the beta. Title a reference to <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Earthquakes#Earthquakes_in_mythology_and_religion">Norse mythology’s explanation of earthquakes</a></p>
    </blockquote>





	Emptying the Bowl

**Author's Note:**

> For the spn_remix. Remix of [Fault Lines](http://jewels667.livejournal.com/160773.html) by jewels667. Thank you to ggreenapple for the beta. Title a reference to [Norse mythology’s explanation of earthquakes](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Earthquakes#Earthquakes_in_mythology_and_religion)

*

Dean wakes up shaking.

For a few moments he's blinking into a space blearier than his dreams and then he connects the noise with the movement, braces the heels of his palms on the leather beneath him, lifts up. The car windows are a little foggy; he can feel her tremors right down through his wrists.

He'd never have known he'd pulled in right next to the tracks if it wasn't for the tons of metal rushing by a scant distance from him right now, all colored motifs painted on side faded to gunmetal gray in the dawn. The freight train makes the world shake and after it passes, Dean's still rattling.

##

He cuts a fault line across the country, car rumbling around him, vibration just under the surface of his skin. The world shifts and shudders away from him on either side and his inside draws away from the outside of him, an ill-fit straining too hard to get out in some places, shying away in others.

There's a line etched on his shoulder in the shape of Sam's touch, like a weak point where he could spill right out. It feels more dangerous than blood, because blood dries like a tacky shield. In contrast, the lukewarm needle-pricks of water on his neck and back bring the memories to the surface:

The drip of the faucet, the feel of Sam's breath. Dean's world a rhythm.

Plates shift with the click of the door latch and Sam's affect is defined by his absence, like a fissure opened up beneath Dean's feet; he's been tumbling downward ever since.

##

The car gets caught in a groove, curves off the cracked course; into a forest, into a hunt. Shaggy black fur not reflecting the thin moonlight, and Dean's hard boots _thump thump thump_ the hard ground, like it needs punishment for being so sturdy.

He huffs and hunts, as animal as the thing he chases, more base in his needs than its inhuman purpose. Trigger-squeeze and the silence rings in his ears, sound of his own panting distant and the smell of blood familiar as family. He breathes it in and it swells in him, fills the loose spaces left over.

When it drains away completely he's already back on the road again, face heated by the setting sun.

##

It gets hotter the further west he gets, and then he gets as far as he can go. The liquor warms him even in the cooler night, then when the door opens Dean's still got his hand up, delight with plotting the surprise of actually _knocking_ still smeared all over his face.

His heart goes _thump thump thump_ in an echo of his fist and the boy in front of him rolls his eyes in response to the not-so-quick up-and-down of Dean's gaze; the heat spreading out over Dean's face and neck, now.

Sam's all gangly limbs and bobbing adam's apple, but his hand feels like it's wrapped around Dean's entire body instead of just his fingers; his insides start to settle, bound in tight like Sam's not just looking back over his shoulder at him, that Sam's closed around him already.

##

Dean likes the baser things in life. His body's never quite fit him right, like his skin's a tectonic jigsaw, constantly shifting and threatening to crack open. Sam's mouth soothes and stills. Binds the edges together, like the scratch marks down Dean’s back are seams, like Sam’s saliva is blood.

It’s fucking and fighting in some ways and in others not, almost like sparring with Sammy; an adrenaline rush that has nothing to do with danger. Sam laughs in a way that Dean feels more than hears; vibrations hitting the outside of his skin this time and the air is hot and steamy with their breath. Some of it’s his. Some of it isn’t.

It’s like he’s been shaken off course and his feet have hit the ground again. Sam’s dorm room is small, cluttered with two beds and a sunken, second-hand armchair dominates a corner. There are some clothes strewn around, and the bed creaks in alarm when Dean falls back against it. Sammy’s pillow smells a bit musty, like the linens need changing, and when Dean tips his head back he sees upside-down the zeppelin poster Sammy’s got pinned above his bed: crash and burn.

##

Dean opens his eyes and the tone of the room is strange; thin, colorless curtains helplessly seeping in light that seems more blue or green than warm. It's late enough morning that the sunlight's not all that young, it's been coming in through Dean's eyelids intense pink while he slept. While Sammy left.

He finds his jeans, sways a little while he drags them on. The room looks like a disaster zone; destroyed and abandoned. It's so still and quiet, cold concrete walls and only the faint sound of cars and wordless speech when Dean edges by the window, tweaks the curtain back to peer down at the dusty park in front of the building.

He hears a key in the lock and puts his back to the wall by the window, makes it casual. He sees the skinny black tie fluttering on the outside door handle when the door swings inward, watches Sam close the door carefully behind him so it doesn't get caught in the close.

Sam sets a cup on the desk nearest Dean and sits on the edge of his bed, wrapping his hands around his own coffee. He won't meet Dean's eyes, even after Dean steps forward. Dean rubs at the low tremble that's starting at the base of his rib cage, then starts to button his shirt. He itches, can't ease the creeping sensation of impatient movement below the surface of his skin.

"Can I grab a shower?" Dean's voice is raspy, throat more scorched than cleared after the first burning swig of coffee.

Sam's shoulder lifts. "It's shared," he says, and gestures vaguely, gaze sticking to the movement of his own hand. "The whole floor."

"Okay," Dean says, because it doesn't matter anyway. He'd got a hotel room closer the bar; checked into when he was sober.

Before he leaves, Sam kisses him.

##

He drives north, keeping pace with a train as he cuts through a corner of Nevada, their speeds slippery alongside each other and sometimes like neither are moving at all.

The air in Seattle is heavy and wet, portentous. Maybe that’s what’s making the guy on the opposite corner of the bar scowl. Maybe it’s Dean’s hand skimming the waitress’s waist. All Dean knows is he’s not the one who swung first, so when he’s outside in the alley, concrete walls around him sweaty with the damp, he shakes his shoulders ineffectually against the buzz and raises his fists.

Plants his feet as the guy stalks forward, like the ground’s still shaking and rolling, quaking under Dean’s boots. He stands firm.

**Author's Note:**

> http://spnremixfics.livejournal.com/9998.html


End file.
